


Restitution

by raebeme



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen, also luke is still some dumb kid hoping to do good, and the galaxy trembles, darker take on the galaxy as a whole, don't mess with luke's space twin he'll try and throw u out the airlock, leia has no idea why stormtroopers begin invoking her name, leia has survivors guilt, mostly vader freaks out, vicious leia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5684185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raebeme/pseuds/raebeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Vader learned the truth about Leia only hours after he stood by and watched her planet burn? What if the Force, passively waiting for actions of babes, woke up and took notice? What if stormtroopers whispered about princesses as one whispers about ancient religions? </p><p>Imperials trembled at the thought of a white on white ghost holding judgment in her palm as planets, far enough away to still be whole, burned.</p><p>All the while, a rebel princess knelt to be knighted in the ways of old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

Major Callhern knew that he was going to die the moment he walked into the room. His information on the Princess's biological parents was only half complete and late to boot.

The Princess escaped hours ago with rebel agents aboard a Corrilian freighter. It might have been an opportunity to track rebellion leadership, but Callhern knew that he had failed in further rattling the princess. With the destruction of her planet, and parents, information gained by the bio-scan was supposed to make her more unsettled and adrift in crisis, personal and galactic.

Either way his report to Lord Vader was as complete as possible.

The only match to the Princess's ancestry was that of a dead queen and former senator of Naboo. A brief perusal of the woman’s file, which had been heavily redacted, led the major to believe that the Princess’s wildness was at least partially genetic. (The former Queen had apparently risen up and led her people to war while prepubescent and marched into battle multiple times after that. Unsurprising really. The Naboo had a history for turning out bloodthirsty monarchs.)

Lord Vader seemed to have frozen from his glance at the report once the Major reluctantly handed it over.

Major Callhern stood at attention knowing that he was not forgotten. It had happened before with other officers; Callhern had reported to their offices, turned in whatever they had requested, and then never been dismissed. Once General Veers had sent him for caf, assuming he was a secretary.

“This is accurate?”

Startled, Callhern squeaked before remembering himself.

“Yes, sir. It was a 98 percent maternal match. Unfortunately the father was unkno- _URGK_.“

Darth Vader’s gaze never left the file.

Queen Breha and Viceroy Bail Organa had adopted Princess Leia Organa nearly 19 years ago as an infant only weeks after Senator Amidala's death. It was too close, too obvious.

 _Impossible_ , thought the Sith. Padmé’s child had been this close the entire time.

The padd crumpled as it dropped to the floor. Walls warping and buckling under unseen pressure as Vader stood, considering.

It didn’t make sense.

The Emperor had told him, had explained that Padmé -- that she had died. And that she had taken the child with her. That, that he had killed her. That he had killed them both. And for the past 19 years Vader had wished he’d followed.

But the Emperor needed him. Needed him to protect and guide the new galaxy. If not for the safety of the empire, then in her memory. To honor her. To guide the thoughtless petty citizens to a better future.

The Emperor said he'd seen it.

And when Vader reached out for her, for Padmé, she was gone. And so was the child. It was supposed to be a girl. He remembered that, he had felt the tiny force presence and had known.

It was going to be a girl and he wanted to name her Leia.

Leia. He had wanted to name her Leia. Leia the princess, he had once thought giddily to himself. His daughter born to a freed slave and a queen. He’d promised himself late at night that she’d never know harm or pain or suffering. Because he would protect her. His little princess.

Leia. Leia. _Leia_. Padmé’s child. Padmé had a child. Her name was Leia. Padmé had given birth to _Leia_. Leia. Leia.

How? How could the Emperor not have known? How could she have gone this long unknown? How could he have not seen it? She looked so much like Padmé it burned.

He could feel himself burning again, from the inside out this time. His child. His child looked like Padmé. His child looked like her mother. She hissed and spit like a sandstorm, and she looked like her mother. Padmé, she looked like Padmé.

Transparisteel shattered and alarms began to blare. The respirator protected its wearer from the vacuum as shields sealed the room.

Turning, the Sith didn’t notice the twisting of the walls or lights beginning to flash as he headed to the hanger for his personal tie-fighter.

He needed to leave. He needed to speak with his master. His master would know what to do. His master could explain.

Could explain his daughter. The daughter he’d been told was dead. The Emperor had told him she was dead. His daughter was supposed to have died before she could have lived. She was never supposed to have played and laughed and grown up. She died as a baby. A tiny baby who never left her mother's womb. And yet.

The Sith paused mid stride before continuing.

His daughter lived. She ran and fought and lived and she suffered. By his own hand his child knew the pain of the galaxy. He’d hurt his own child. Tortured her. He’d done that. The Emperor told him to do it.

The Emperor had given him to General Tarkin. To be the hound, to find the rebels. And oh he’d tried. The princess wouldn’t give them up knowingly. And she hadn’t given them up when her planet was destroyed.

Darth Vader halted so abruptly a trooper running down the hall slipped and fell trying to avoid notice.

The death star had destroyed Leia’s planet. Her home. Vader had stood by as his daughter’s home was destroyed.

The respirator struggled to synch his breathing as the realization set it.

Anakin Skywalker had destroyed the home of Padmé Amidala’s daughter. Destroyed her planet just as surely as he’d once helped save her mothers.

The force swirled out further and further as the hysteria of thousands and thousands of souls cried out.

Tarkin fell twisted and ripped apart from the inside out.

Pilots crashed into the massive hull, and shields began to give way.

Turret guns shot at one another across the trenches.

The inner hallways twisted and collapsed as the station crumpled in on itself as one tie-fighter, capable of hyper speed, soared away from the malfunctioning weapon.

A million lives taken was not enough. A million lives was not enough for his daughter, lost.

A million lives was only the foundation of restitution for his child.

His master would explain this. Vader could feel it with a certainty he hadn’t known in decades.

This was something he would answer for.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is a trial run to get my feet wet... also fyi this is not a redemption fic.


	2. Chapter 2

War was, of course, a matter of waiting, boredom, terror, then paperwork. Even for rebel armies. But this was beginning to seem a bit ridiculous.

The rebel encampment of Yavin 4 had waited with bated breath for the false moon to arrive. They'd found the tracker on the Millennium Falcon easily enough, and so far scouts had returned all reporting the same thing.

The Death Star was headed straight for them.

And then it never arrived. Instead the last sentry sent out returned, shaken to the core, and unable to give a coherent report. 

The atromech R3-A2 was left to report what it could while medical had a look at the Lieutenant Norra Wexley: the Death Star began to malfunction, suffering damage to shielding and hull before explosions began to rupture the massive station. Escape pods had been launched yet many of the ships already orbiting the station had returned only to purposely crash directly into the hull leaving only a few small vessels to navigate the destruction. 

The yellow mech also explained that Lieutenant Wexley had begun to experience fluctuations in her vitals after the first shield malfunction. Her flight readout confirmed the astromech's analysis of the pilot; her heart rate had started spiking mid way through her scouting mission, accompanied by a rising body temperature and alterations in her breathing. All signs appeared as though she had started panicking and had been unable to calm herself. So R3-A2 had taken control of the ship and set auto-pilot for base. 

Princess Leia stood with the rest of Rebel Command questioning the astromech. It didn't seem possible that their luck had turned this far. With a glance at the generals, Leia commed medical inquiring about Wexley.

The response she got wasn't very encouraging. 

"She's been sedated. It appears that she's been experiencing an acute panic attack for nearly an hour before arriving back to base. Any questioning on our part about what happened has been met with either no response or a panic reflex."

"Thank you. Please keep us updated."

General Dodanna paced across the room before speaking

"We have to know the status of the Death Star. It wasn't one of ours that caused the malfunctions?"

"I doubt it. We need to send a small team. How close was Gold Nine when the shields began to fail?" inquired Leia.

The mech let out a series of beeps translating to _no closer than eighty thousand meters, but no further than three hundred thousand meters_.

"Close enough we could be sending our pilots into a trap. Fantastic."

Deploying Red Squadron, Command waited to hear word of the possible destruction or at least dismantlement of the Death Star. They didn't wait long. Almost immediately Red Leader commed with the damage report.

"Red Leader to Command, the Death Star is no longer functional. I repeat the Death Star is no longer functional."

As the squad flew through the wreckage, life signs began to ping their scanners. Escape pods had been jettisoned and a few ships had managed to avoid major damage. By and far, though, it seemed as though the entire station had simply fallen apart.

"So what do we do with the living?"

"This area seems to be mostly intact."

"Hey, I got a live one!"

"Should we shoot the ships?"

"Do not engage unless provoked, keep on the look out. Have your astromech record life signs, how many and what areas," ordered Commander Dreis.

 

That day went down in history as the Triumph of Yavin, the Conquering of the Death Star.

What was left of the machine was destroyed and left to form a ring of debris around the gas giant. 

Nearly twenty-thousand beings had been found alive in the wreckage; half were gathered up and sent to various planets under rebel influence, while the rest were left for the Imperials to find. Large portions of the prisoners were almost catatonic when recovered, and those that were conscious and able to answer questions began to develop signs of anxiety and paranoia. Three of the recovered officers were stationed on the bridge when the weapon began to fail. Their recounting of the incident was... interesting to say the least.

Princess Leia stared at the officer across the table from her. She remembered him from the bridge. He had stood there and watched as Tarkin destroyed her planet. All of them had stood there and watched. To her, all of the soldiers, all of the beings working aboard the Death Star, were complicit in the genocide and destruction of her people. They should all face charges against the galaxy and crimes against sentient beings.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face because Sergeant Stihl immediately dropped his gaze to the table and his shackled hands. He swallowed before whispering, "It was our fault. Our fault, Princess. Ours-" _That_ was all they could get out of this one.

According to the other officers, he had been working nearest to Tarkin when the General had died. Apparently the alarms had started to go off, warning that the entire station was beginning to loose integrity, as if they had passed close to a black hole. The engines and reactors had set off a series of explosions deep in the stations core. While guns and machinery misfired and exploded, destroying guardtowers and hanger bays. It was just after the alarms that Tarkin had started screaming. 

Sergeant Torent had started crying as he recounted Tarkin's death and the destruction of the bridge:

"He just started screaming and then he fell. And, and he started to seize? I don't know, suddenly everyone near him started yelling and screaming. And Stihl, he ran right at me, we ended up in the same pod. But he was talking about it being his fault? Something about Princess Leia."

That wasn't the first of the Death Star prisoners declaring something as their fault, followed by exclamations about Princess Leia, Princess Leia. Always _Princess Leia_.

By the next conflict with the Imperials, the captives' call for the Princess escalated. They cried for protection or for strength, with it switching from trooper to trooper with little to no reason.

Gloriously, the Rebel Alliance troops took to the newfound invocation with delight. Especially the newly formed Rogue Squadron as open comm calls of "the Princess take you" and "by the fucking Princess" at the enemy became common.

Rebel troops followed by igniting the idea that Leia would lead her troops into battle, that she fought on the ground and in the skies, and that with a glance she created ruin and despair across an entire system.

Imperial troops were also spreading their own propaganda of the Princess.

The remaining Death Star soldiers had been dispersed throughout the military without regard to their various mental wellbeing. Those soldiers began recounting to their comrades about visions of death and desolation on the Death Star. And how hallucinations of Princess Leia had come to some of them whispering of fault and disgust. How she had come back to destroy them. For their guilt and tyranny.

In the wake of Aldaraan and the destruction of the Death Star, Imperial defectors hit a record high. While rebellion recruitment continued to climb. 

After all, as one newly defected Imperial said, "This is where the Princess has taken up arms."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....i now know way to much about characters who never even spoke on screen. smh


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Suicide, anxiety

The galaxy stopped making sense halfway through third shift.

Regulation held that at any given point nearly four hundred thousand beings worked and managed the operations of the Death Star; the number nearly doubled during battle preparations.

Of course, since everyone couldn't hold a blaster or fly a tie-fighter, most of the beings aboard worked the interior of the massive weapon. Programing and coordinating with other sections, the engineers were the lifeblood of the Death Star. While no crew member knew all there was of the weapon, a single being could effectively render entire operations useless.

So when Warrant Officer Ersk began disconnecting and rerouting conductors without orders, something had gone very wrong. And he was fixing it.

He knew the end result would be an improvement, and that everything could be corrected. It could, and would, be better.

In fact, a mistake with one of the connectors led to the flawless, but early, execution of his work.

Level eighty-seven was not the first to experience an inconvenience, nor was it the last. It was simply another explosion in a chain reaction of events that would destroy the largest weapon ever built.

Deeper into the core of the station, other engineers also began modifying their work. They could repair it. They would fix it.

At the same time as the engineers furiously altered their machines, a guard near one of the internal gravity regulators turned his weapon on the room at large before using it on himself. All the while murmuring, “ _We_ did it. Our fault. A mistake, we _made a mistake.”_

Others trembled in their sleep and dreamed of white wisps and vicious whispering before waking to blaring alarms and devastation.

Some never even had the chance and were ripped from their bunks by the vacuum, as entire levels depressurized.

In hallways those not running for emergency stations crumbled in on themselves, wailing.

On the bridge, Sergeant Stihl felt his equilibrium collapse. _How could he have done this, why was he here? What was he doing? Was this what he was? How could he? He stood by and just_ watched _? How was that ensuring safety? How was that promoting peace?_

Stihl began to tremble as he realized the implications of what he had done.

He’d helped destroy a planet. Helped destroy the Princess. He’d been the one to remove her from the bridge, hadn’t he? Walked her to the detention level and left her there. Didn’t speak a word the whole time and he left her all alone. Her entire planet destroyed and he left her in a cell.

To his left Tarkin began shrieking. He deserved it. They all deserved it. They all needed to burn.

Turning, Stihl ran, tumbling into another officer.

He needed to make sure they knew.

They needed to know it was their fault.

He had to tell them what they did to the _Princess_.

 _They did this_.

Meanwhile, across the station squadrons of stormtroopers collapsed, as if mere puppets with cut strings.

Near the hanger bays some soldiers noticed a woman in the corner of their eyes. She turned away, forsaking them to the fury. Executing them as if she leveled the vibroblade herself.

(Captain Janso would later swear the Princess had walked past him and slaughtered his entire company.)

Ships orbiting the Death Star were pulled closer by malfunctioning tractor beams, crashing into the station and other ships. Escape pods bounced through the debris.

As the Death Star began to suffer major damage, the I-Class Star Destroyer _Reprisal_ launched from the mooring towers, operating with only a skeleton crew aboard. Instead of flying away and jumping into hyperspace, the main thrusters of the Reprisal reversed sending it towards the exterior of the Death Star. The navigation officers inside the bridge accused one another of treachery and sedition while simultaneously inputting the new coordinates of a crash landing -- inside the station.

 

By the time the Empire learned of the destruction, the rebels had come, gone, and left only non-essential personal and lower ranking troopers behind. Of course, the rebels had combed through the survivors searching for officers, engineers, medical personal, and anyone else who could be interrogated for information.

Rescued stormtroopers were detained, identified (it wouldn’t do to have a Rebel agent among the extricated), and questioned before reintegration.

“Do you know what happened?”

“Do you know what went wrong?”

“Where were you stationed?”

“What actions did you take?”

“How did you survive?”

Quietly the Empire removed troopers who claimed Princess Leia had done it, and the ones who openly said she saved them. The troopers who never mentioned her, outside of contact prior to the Death Star’s trek to Yavin, were given new orders and left to their own devices.

 

The holonet took the news and ran, howling about the might of the Empire.

“If we built one, we have built more” was the spin on a weapon capable of destroying entire planets, being destroyed itself.

They reported that Alderaan was a casualty of war, caused by dissidents and terrorists. That by destroying a single planet the galaxy as a whole would follow into an even greater era of peace and security.

News spread far of the famous Princess of Alderaan and her extremist views, that she destroyed her people with her insurgent dogma, just as the Mandalorians had ripped themselves apart in the Cone Wars.

That she was the cause of the weapon firing on a core world. And her actions led to their destruction, if only she had been a good Imperial girl, respectable in the ways that mattered, and followed the law her people would have survived.

The Emperor asked his citizens to keep watch on their neighbors. To ensure suspicious activity was correctly reported. And that as long as they remained vigilant to radical actions the threat would never reach their homes, and all citizens would be safe.

Which led to exactly what the empire wanted, on the surface.

Citizens of core worlds passed one another on the street and with a glance, recognized fear in each other’s eyes. If Alderaan could be destroyed, who was next? Everyone had that one family member who could potentially be linked to rebel sympathy. How many sympathizers were _too_ many? How much push before the Emperor shoved back?

Whispers of the mighty Empire now trembling traveled fast through the mid and outer rim. Farther from the core the stories became more and more outrageous.

They claimed an entire planet had been destroyed by a single blast.

And within a few days, the very same weapon fell at the call of Princess Leia and her righteous-fueled Rebellion.

They spoke of stormtroopers calling for the Alderaan Princess in their sleep.

For she had walked the halls and cast fire herself, sparing few and laying accusations upon the survivors.

She called old power to her aid, and it _answered_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact stihl is a real character and was force sensitive. also the holonet is fox news.  
> next we get back to vader.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Depression, suicide mention, insanity

A glance at the night sky was nothing but lies and deceit.

Worlds could spin out of orbit and the casual observer would never know. A sun could wink out and across the galaxy children would continue to count its glow in their constellations.

Night was cold and dark and full of tiny twinkling promises of light. And yet, with a closer look, they fell apart.

There was nothing there.

A star wished upon was nothing but a remnant of history.

A planet that dictated a future was minutes off.

After all, a comet was only rock and ice. And it always came back around. Even if no one was there to see it. 

And no one could. 

If you traveled far enough fast enough, Alderaan was still visible to the strongest scopes. 

The outer and farthest mid rim could look up and, if they cared enough, Alderaan could be picked out of those thousands of worlds. It was just that, until recently, no one had cared enough to do so.

Now tales of destroyed planets and weapons the size of moons littered the ports and hyperlanes. Listeners would look out into space and see a planet lightyears away; the ignorant would cry, “Look, there it is,” while the informed would shake their heads and console the survivors who could see their home yet never return.

Marching across the galaxy, Darth Vader was one such spectator. After every jump, he’d set his scopes and watch.

Sometimes the distance was close enough he’d see himself destroying his daughter’s home over and over. Again and again.

Sometimes the planet shown like a jewel, untouched and unaware.

Vader made his way across the galaxy, torturing himself with every step, tearing himself apart _. How could he have missed everything? How could his daughter have been close enough to touch and he never_ knew _?_ This is what he sought. Answers.

Answers scrambled from dark corners of fabrications and falsehoods.

After all space was cold and dark.

Polis Massa surrendered information without resistance, having been sacked by the Empire once already.

Vader swept through the halls to the medical center, hunting for information. The files where old and decrepit, and transferring them took time.

Enough time, though, for Vader to begin scoring the rest of the outpost. When he left, nothing remained in the ancient asteroid field but dust and hatred.

 

Alderaan flared like a beacon.

 

He hunted across the stars for ghosts. Cleaving through stations and cities across the outer rim. The slightest mention of Bail Organa was worth a glance, a hiss of the fallen planet earned a second look.

He ransacked old networks hunting for any message, any meaning in her name. His daughter, the Princess, the _Princess Leia_.

He could feel pride swelling, it didn’t matter if she’d done the deed or not. All that mattered was that people would believe it.

He might have destroyed the Death Star, torn it apart with powers considered to be myth, but it was Leia, his Leia, whom people feared. One step in many for her to be recognized, to be remembered. Vader would give her the galaxy. That’s what she wanted, after all. A galaxy of her own.

The Force raged a gale wind on the universe. It didn’t settle and it didn’t hesitate to shift focus from one to another as things long planned lost possibility.

Landing aboard the _Executor_ , Vader re-entered the Empire.

Sweeping through the crew, a sense of compliance settled. The Sith returned from the dead would lead them to victory. The crew worked single-mindedly without reward or remark. They were headed home, deeper and deeper towards the core.

Admiral Ozzel was crushed under the weight of command and was removed, permanently, from the chain. Newly instated Admiral Piett saw the way the hammer was falling and was quick to settle into line. There were reasons he’d lasted so long under Vader’s command prior to this.

Beings who wondered at the changes in trajectory didn’t walk away from their stations and had to be removed later, with shovels and in bags. Some never left their bunks and others took the fast leap to the unknown.

 

Spiraling inward, Alderaan danced in circles, there, not there, a wink, a wailing mass.

 

The dreadnaught circled Naboo for three days while the Lord descended upon Theed. He stalked through the streets, uprooting history and ravishing myths.

Women nearing their fifties fell sneering. Holding whispers close to their chest, refusing to the last. They where born and bred for war, and a once ally now twisted and dark would not hear their lady’s dying confidences. They would not break and they would not cower. Women of Naboo, raised in royalty, even from the cover of hoods, fought until there was no more fighting to be done.

Keepers of the dead, on the other hand, shrieked out secrets. Squealing like pigs, rank with disloyalty.

A Queen lived, if only to watch her people fall apart. She mourned draped in black.

The city began to moan and whine, pain two decades old reared its head and left no mercy. Children played quiet rhyming games with one another, giggling out:

“ _Queen Ami Da La,_

_Went to Corusca,_

_She fought and she spoke,_

_Until she was smoke,_

_The Queen Ami Da La_.”

The adults dreamed of painted faces and feral eyes refusing to bow. Of treaties and bombs. Of deep lakes and deeper dread.

The world fell to pieces, pulled apart at the seams and unable to resist. Their loyal guardian long dead, kept only in a memory that raced over the planet. Sadness crippled them as they remembered.

Trade slowed, and the planet slowly collapsed in on itself. Festering grief spread like a contagion. Closing boarders was impossible, but leaving became just as difficult. People slept for hours and hours only to wake and then return to sleep. Cities glorious for their pristine beauty grew moss and leveled grit in the archways.

Depression of the soul settled firmly, children wandered away from school, parents forgot to pack lunches, and the tourists and visitors lacked the motivation to return home. Anger where there shouldn’t be thrashed, fear when there wasn’t before cried out.

And the Executor continued on.

 

Alderaan smoldered as they passed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo....... thanks to my awesome roommate teal for beta-ing this. cause my spelling is hell.  
> and i creeped myself out looking at old children's rhymes.  
> can anyone guess who the older women are???


	5. Chapter 5

Raging the Force tore at those sensitive enough to notice.

It whipped between stars carrying shrieks and squeals; it tumbled through atmospheres bombarding the unprepared.

Throughout the galaxy, beings of every distinction slowly awoke, as if they had slept for years and years. With a chill on their breath, they realized as one that they were needed. There was a calling. A summons that all, yet only one, could answer.

An age drifted before they realized that one was not who or what they should be, that each was just as important as the whole. Within the Force, they realized themselves again and began pulling apart as threads, long since frayed, twisted together. 

 _They were needed_.

A shuttle in the murk was lifted out. Cleaning and airing it took time for it had been twenty years since this craft had last been used. Parts needed to be replaced, though it would never be space worthy again.

Working slowly, Yoda, old in ways only ancients understood, was tired. Never had he expected it to come to this. Never would he have thought -- he had been so certain of the prediction -- of the plan. He’d barely considered that something of this magnitude would change.

The Force, more exhausted than any being knew, snapped at his heels. _Faster, faster, faster,_ there was a Princess to knight a lifetime away.

(A Princess who would never leave her cause. Would never abandon her post. Would march and march, advancing to the edge. And, if necessary, would leap off before Yoda reached her.)

The transceiver scrapped together from the shuttle’s remains sent out codes of the Jedi’s youth. Not temple codes, never those again. Just phrases and callings of popularity half a millennium ago, that he used to tell in the crèche.

Days and days passed while the Force cracked at joints, _faster, faster, faster,_ while Yoda hummed and hawed in return.

Until a Corellian VCX Light Freighter settled down almost on top of Yoda’s old shuttle. From the hold came Spectres calling for information, spilling tales of the extinct planet, demanding how those phrases had been known.

Yoda answered their questions and calmed their frantic nature.

He played the old alien as well as any old alien could and quietly asked for transport. Only if they were willing, only if they had room, only if they could, maybe, find the Alderaan Princess.  He was old and dying, it was his last dream, to see the Princess in a great hall and meet his destiny, complete.

The Princess in a great hall the youngest of the crew praised. He’d seen it once in a dream too. Could see it as if he had been there, standing in the front. Turning to their shocked leader he pleaded that they go, that they help Princess Leia as they had done in the past.

Between Yoda and the Lothal Rebels an agreement was struck, lost wisdom for travel.

Rampant the Force pushed at their thrusters, tugging at the hull cooing, _faster, faster, faster,_ then snarling, _look there, look at your mistakes, your arrogance_.

Yoda, separated only by time yet feeling every year, passed near enough to witness the ruin of Alderaan.

 

The Rebellion was transforming, becoming more than just an idea, more than just a radical suggestion. They had struck the Empire and the entire galaxy was beginning to feel the vibrations.

Naboo, the _Emperor’s_ _home world_ , had stopped trade, slowing all space travel in their entire sector. Stations that frequently turned away travelers had opened their doors before sending them on their way to the Rebellion. Planets farther from the Core began to send care and support while entire systems turned blind eyes to smugglers and contraband trade. Locals rallied for and against the out breaking war. Fighting broke out in the farthest of the mid rim. Murders on the streets, lynching in the capitols, civil conflicts about a civil war, entire worlds warring amongst themselves over warfare.

Unfortunately for those worlds, they were a welcome distraction from Rebels.

Larger Imperial battalions were dispatched to the mid rim and were wholly unprepared for the vicious inter-world conflicts. It was one thing to fight on the ground but was something else entirely to fight someone on their home, thus causing more and more resentment of the interference in domestic plights. Naturally, the planets began to revolt.

The Rebellion circulated, relocated, and settled firmly into the heart of the conflict. Beings flocked to the fight in hoards, ready and terrified, to the point that the Rebellion itself had to expand and reorganize. 

The command structure was changed with the influx. No more committee leadership in one sector to argue with a single general in another.

Newly centralized, the Rebellion militarized in ways it hadn’t before. Where they had been cell-centered with few bases, they instead began forming garrisons and legions. Older soldiers, those trained from the Clone Wars, the Imperial defectors, and anyone who could teach were put to work instructing the recruits.

At the helm Princess Leia called for more.

Elevated by myth and awe, she spoke out and was revered. Living up the hype, she led and fought with her militias planet-side, toting a blaster (or three) while she waded into the mud and never looked back.

In space she attacked from the bridge and engineered orbital skirmishes, led hit-and-runs, and fought from the dark. She stared down faceless beings and brawled with an Empire.

And when a living ghost from ages past came to her aboard the Phantom, she stared down at him and demanded answers.

“Where were you when Alderaan needed you?”

“Where were you when I asked for the great generals?”

“Where were you before, once again, there was genocide?”

All Yoda could tell her was:

“Until needed, until called, I waited.”

The Princess looked at Yoda and, with the gall of one very young, and very frightened, she sneered, “You have always been needed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Vader does shit, the galaxy attributes it to the rebellion, and the rebellion just rolls with it.  
> Shoutout to my little bro for being a pest and reminding me about relativity of time.  
> ( ~~tell me what u think~~ )


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: implied ptsd, use of grounding techniques

Leia dreamed a desert of grass in the bottom a lake.

Sand burned her feet, grass brushed over her fingers, her lungs were filling with fluid. Basking in sunlight and shivering in the damp Leia plucked seeds from the strands as she drowned.

Jerking up right, she gasped struggling to reorient herself.

Her name was Leia Organa.

Her father was Bail Organa.

Her mother was Breha Organa.

Her home was Alderaan

Gritting her teeth she prepared for the day. After dressing and arming herself, she settled into the Face of the Rebellion. The royal daughter of Alderaan. She secured her hair, and changed her shirt on account of a stain across the sleeve.

White on white, like a haunting spirit. Forlorn and isolated.

The mess was quiet this early in the day cycle _._ And like all food made for large quantities of beings it tasted like powder and had to be followed by fast sips of caf. Of the few beings awake conversation was limited, and none, fortunately, tried to speak to Leia. 

She made her way to the bridge once finished, quietly greeting those that saluted her as she passed.

The bridge was busy, as always. _Home One_ was the flagship of the fleet and had command of nearly two-dozen smaller ships. During the night cycle the fleet had jumped into hyperspace and was currently cruising to the next hyper-point.

Nearly twenty-five worlds in the Mid Rim had united with the Rebellion while another eight sectors had imploded with civil war. Fighting on the ground was left to these newly declared independent planets as strategic strongholds offered more reinforcement to the Rebels. The added bonus of the Empire attempting to fight a multitude of conflicts across the Inner and Mid Rims left more room for the Rebellion to operate unnoticed.

Leia flipped through her padd, absorbing all that had happened in the last few hours. Most of the incoming reports noted increased violence planetside across the unsecured sections of the hyperlane. 

Four days ago the Parlemian Trade Route across the Inner and Mid Rims had ceded to Rebel control with minor continuing conflict with the local pirates near Taanab. Control of the agricultural world was imperative to the Rebellion. Hungry soldiers would be dead soldiers and the increasing recruitment made rationing difficult.

After restocking at Taanab the fleet would split, three freighters and two frigates would curry supplies to taskforces currently surveying the Outer Rim. While _Home One_ , alongside the remaining armada, would continue on to a yet-to-be-determined location.

Everything was more or less the exact same as when she had left it.

There was a soft cough to her left.

“Maybe you should speak with them some more?” Commander Syndulla asked gently.

Leia glanced up and then determinedly back to the padd. “I doubt the story has changed much. Besides, Lieutenant Skywalker won’t be available until we reach Taanab…”

The twi’lek commander sighed and reached out to grasp Leia’s shoulder, in support or admonition. Both were just as likely.

“It’s _you_ that needs to make this decision, Leia.” 

She ground her teeth and shook off the well-meaning pilot. It was the truth after all. Leia was the one who needed to decide how to handle Yoda and all he had brought with him.

The week before, the Jedi Master and former General of the Grand Army of the Republic had returned from his self-imposed exile of twenty years and claimed that Leia was the next generation of Jedi. He’d contacted and managed to receive transportation from the Ghost of Phoenix Squadron, who had _their own_ _Jedi_ backing up Yoda’s claims to the rest of the Rebellion Leadership.

And then, the Spectres had revealed that Leia knew the two were Jedi for years and hadn’t revealed their status to the entirety of Rebellion Command. In turn she’d asked what it mattered as her father had never spoken of it either. And it was their own choice to divulge such sensitive information about their personal safety. After all, she’d gone on to say with pointed accusation, the reward for a single Jedi could have funded the original Rebellion for at least a year if not more.

Currently Leia and Command steadily ignored the increasing tension. Beings like the older Generals, Admiral Akbar, and Mon Mothma remembered the Jedi of the Clone Wars. And the opportunity to once again send Jedi to the front had caused them to reminisce only of the battles fought and won, and not the heavy losses, nor the reliance the galaxy had placed on aloof guardians.

According to Yoda, Leia was the child of a Jedi and it was for her own protection that Bail and Breha had adopted her. He also claimed that Leia was incredibly strong in the Force as were her parents. When she asked Yoda who her biological parents had been the elusive hermit had only shook his head and told her:

“Irrelevant now, for gone they are.”

Yoda had then explained that the galaxy rested on _her choice_. To become a Jedi or not, either way the Force was something she _needed to learn_. That it was the will of the Force, even though not once in her association with Jedi had that ever been said before. 

She was hardly a Jedi, she knew; Yoda should have come for Luke. After all, it had been Luke who appeared with General Kenobi on the Death Star and carried Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber on his hip. Even with only the small amount of training General Kenobi had given him, Luke was already more Jedi than she had ever been. He was the one who deserved training. He was the one Yoda should be pushing to teach.

But when Leia had asked about Luke and his training, Yoda had groused and told her that a Jedi could only train one apprentice at a time. And that anymore would lead to disregard of the Code.

She had left and locked herself away in her bunk for hours. Prior to Yoda, no one had ever claimed Leia was remotely force sensitive. She was overwhelmed but unsurprised.

Leia had a sense of the galaxy and the rules that governed reality her whole life. Once she knew something, confirmed or not, it was the truth of her existence. And she knew that Yoda had been lying. Deceitful about her parents, and hiding behind an elapsed Code from an outlawed religion. Though, considering she was at the forefront of the largest mutiny in a millennium, she probably shouldn’t be judging as harshly. 

But when she had considered what Yoda had proposed she couldn’t help but feel apprehension. Already too much was spinning out of her control, the Rebellion was calling for her leadership for actions she had never committed. Claims that she had destroyed the Death Star personally were too widespread to dispute (not that anyone believed her when she said otherwise). They’d dole out congratulations and deem her “false modesty” overrated.

It had gotten to the point that beings (that had been on the Yavin 4 encampment _with her_!) were telling stories of her campaign against the Death Star.

The notorious Rogue Squadron, led by Commander Antilles and Lieutenant Skywalker, wasn’t helping matters as they laid every decisive victory against the Empire at her feet. And calling the Rebellion her own, as if the very foundation of the Rebels wasn’t her father’s work, or that of long dead senators and those loyal to the old Republic, or even to those who rose up in the face of injustice.

As if _she_ was the reason so many fought and died for the cause.

Her jaw ached. Her muscles shook from an adrenalin surge at the thought of speaking to Yoda. _How dare he have only appeared now? He should have been here from the beginning not hiding away in the bush._ Leia’s throat tightened and her chest burned.

She was alone on this ship. There was no one to whom she could turn. No one here to listen to her worries or complaints. No one to speak _with her_ about what was happening _to her_. Because, to everyone aboard this ship, she wasn’t a person anymore. She wasn’t a being that could be held down by paltry or childish fears. To them she was something more. Leia Organa had become an ideal. Her stoic façade in the face of destruction was her undoing; her immediate leap to fight back as swiftly and as intelligently as possible meant that no more could she hide behind her age and claim ignorance or self doubt.

People counted on her to be the The Rebellion. To stand up where no one had before. To strike down injustice and commit herself wholly to the revolution.

All Leia wanted to do, but dared not, was cry and sob and hide away from the fight. Until she had grieved for the millions of lives lost, and for her parents, and for herself. But she couldn’t, there was no rest because she no longer had time for herself. She had to keep moving forward otherwise she would shatter just as Alderaan had.

Darting from the bridge she walked with purpose. If she hesitated now she would continue to find excuses not to face this.

Yoda had been settled into a small officer's quarters with easy access to the mess and the bridge. Leia barged right into his room, hardly bothering to knock. Yoda didn’t look overtly surprised by her entrance from his seat at a low table. 

“Who were my biological parents? I have to know; the Jedi, it wasn’t my birth mother. My father – Bail, he spoke of her as if she was the kindest and saddest person he’d ever known. She couldn’t have been a Jedi.”

All the stories were the same, the Jedi had been warriors and they were not kind and they were not gentle. They fought ruthlessly and answered only to themselves, even when they answered to the Republic. They cared for all beings and the welfare of the galaxy, but their methods could be cruel and emotionless at times. And her imaginings of her birth mother did not match.

“… A Jedi your father was. Matters not, lost he is.”

“But it _does_ matter! Or why else did you come here? Why me? Why not Luke? He’s the one you should train, not me. It was _his_ father that mattered in the Clone Wars, not mine -- if you won’t even tell me who he was.”

Yoda, distinctly uncomfortable, scowled.

“The Force wills – ”

“Stop saying that! How can I trust you if you won’t answer me?”

And back and forth it went, an ancient Jedi and a young rebel, arguing over heritage and birthright. As if one was vastly separated from the other.  

They could have spent the rest of their lives in that tiny room refusing to budge, one out of mastery of themselves and the other out of sheer determination.

“Perhaps you should enlighten the girl, Yoda.”

Leia felt her stomach lurch and her head spin. That voice hadn’t come from anyone in this room and it hadn’t been so much heard but felt: rattling across her skin sinking into her brain. 

“She has no respect.”

“Neither do you!” Leia’s complaint went completely ignored as Yoda argued with an incorporeal voice. 

And then the voice spoke directly to her. Calmly, Obi-wan Kenobi, _who else could it be_ , told Leia very simply where she came from and why Yoda was here.

“Your father was a student of mine before he became a Jedi knight. He was very strong and very powerful until that power corrupted him. Now the galaxy knows him as Darth Vader, whom you’ve met.”

Leia wasn’t sure when she had sat down. She wasn’t sure what she’d eaten for breakfast. She wasn’t sure what she was doing anymore. Had she given orders for Luke to immediately board _Home One_? Had she even spoken to the Admiral before she’d left the bridge? Was she supposed to be doing something?

Everything closed in. The cold seeped into her bones and her eyes watered. Her throat hurt. She couldn’t feel her fingers. It didn’t make sense.

 

“Do you understand, Leia?”

_Her name was Leia Organa._

“This is why you must be trained.”

_Her father was Bail Organa._

“You cannot fall as your father did.”

_Her mother was Breha Organa._

“The galaxy needs you.”

_Her home was Alderaan._

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoda and Obi-wan are still cagey bastards and Leia has PTSD on top of a whole lot of survivors guilt.
> 
> If anyone is from ff.net let me know!! :D


	7. Dramatic Irony

Luke Skywalker was having the time of his life.

Granted, it was a war and that wasn’t actually good for anyone. But this was what he was meant to do. It was his calling, to be a pilot and save the galaxy.

From the get go he’d been in the sky, flying out with Red Squadron on his first day with the Rebellion and scouting out the destroyed Death Star. And not long after he’d followed Commander Antilles to Rogue Squadron.

It wasn’t the Imperial Academy; it was better. A bit of a learn-the-ropes-as-you-go, but learning on the job was definitely one way to weed out the good pilots from the bad. Not that fallen pilots were bad pilots it was just… life flying for the Rebellion. Sometimes you didn’t make it back to base, and lived on in memory as a hero to the galaxy.

Currently the Rogues where stationed aboard the Star Cruiser _Liberty_ as they made their way to some agricultural planet. Pirates had claimed it and had made it harder for the fleet to restock.

More or less the sudden arrival of a fleet headed by three Mon Calamari Capitol Ships should send the pirates running. And if they didn’t, squadrons of A- and Y-wings would encourage them to leave.

The X-wings were to stay docked. They were too important to use against mediocre pirates and the loss of a single ship would cost the Rebellion more then they were willing to risk.

This of course left a couple hundred pilots across the fleet bored out of their minds and hopeful that the tides would turn so the X-wings could be sent out. Not that anyone wanted the conflict to go south. It was just… no one had warned them that war was boring most of the time. And there were only so many times you could loose at sabacc. 

Or dejarik.

Or binspo.

They’d also reprogrammed a couple of mouse droids to randomly swarm unsuspecting ground crew during these breaks. It was recorded and the best reactions were forwarded across the fleet. (They’d also faced a couple of reprimands from Commander Habbert about harassing their fellow rebels, especially the ones doing maintenance on their fighters.)

For Luke, it didn’t matter if the conflict needed X-wings or not. He was under orders that dictated the moment the fleet dropped out of hyperspace he was to shuttle over to _Home One_ and report to _Princess_ _Organa_. Since the rebellion couldn’t actually spare a shuttle for single pilot he was allowed to make the trip in his fighter. Which meant R2-D2 could come along.

It was great watching Leia rise through the ranks and take command. She deserved it after all. She’d been with the rebellion in some form or the other for her entire life. And if anyone should be recognized for leadership, it was her. 

“Arrival in ten minutes. Report to stations.”

The announcement echoed throughout the ship. Everyone was already at their stations, they’d been ready for over an hour.

In the hanger bay Luke prepped for take off. As did four other squadrons across the fleet.

“Five minutes to arrival.”

R2-D2 grumbled at Luke about lazy pit crew and dirty circuits, loud enough that near by bothan shot Luke a nasty look. The droid was ready to pick a fight since they wouldn’t get to shoot anyone today. (Artoo had been one of the instigators in the mouse droid swarms.)

“Come on, Artoo, we get to go see Leia. She’ll probably have something for you to do.”

Who knew, maybe Luke would get to speak with the Jedi that had shown up last week. He been on rotation with the Rogues when they arrived and it hadn’t been until a lag in the fighting that Leia had been able to send for him.

“One minute to Arrival.”

It would be fantastic to speak with a Jedi, and maybe learn from them. At least two of them had been involved with the Clone Wars; feasibly they could have known his father. Or at least heard of him? He’d asked around to see if anyone knew Anakin Skywalker within the fleet, and for the most part he got the same information that Ben had told him. Anakin had been a great Jedi, known across the galaxy, a general in the Grand Army of the Republic. It wasn’t very clear how the Jedi had actually worked with the GAR or what their rankings had meant outside the military. The army had been clone-centered and led by Jedi, which allowed very little outside observation. And even fewer in the galaxy alive to explain it today.

“Lieutenant Skywalker, you are cleared for launch,” was commed directly into his hatch.   

He left _Liberty_ behind as he made his way to _Home_ _One_. It only took a few minutes before he was boarding the larger Capitol Ship. Artoo detached from the ship and followed Luke into the halls, a couple of mouse droids fled at the sight of the blue mech. Luke had to report to Leia immediately and he went, grinning at the thought as he nearly skipped to the bridge.

Leia wasn’t in the bridge and a twi’lek commander suggested he find Yoda (the Jedi master he kept hearing about). Luke frowned. That wasn’t right; Leia was almost always on the bridge unless they were fighting planet-side. She said that to unify her leadership within the fleet she had to make a show of authority at all times. Even if the fleet was generally under the direction of Grand Admiral Akbar. (Leia was the fleet commander though she often deferred to the Admiral when it came to fleet wide movements and decisions.) 

Luke had to find Leia right away. Something was wrong.

He sprinted through the halls, half blind with sudden worry. Concern prickled along his skin.

Leia needed his help.

He practically tore down a door and there she was. Sitting at a low table, eyes wide staring at her curled hands, she was scared. Leia was so scared. Across from her was a tiny green troll.

“Hey! What did you do?” Luke stormed right up to the little monster. _What happened, why was Leia scared, this wasn’t okay. What had he done to her?_ Luke wasn’t sure what he would do to the imp, but it wouldn’t be good.

Yoda completely dismissed any implied threat from Luke and went on watching Leia.

“Luke, stop. It’s okay. They just – just told me about -“ Leia had to stop to breathe for a second. She was shaking. 

Leaving the small Jedi, Luke scrambled over to Leia, setting his hand on her shoulder.

“Leia… what’s going on? Do you want me to make him leave?” Luke didn’t just mean leave her alone, he’d make the Jedi leave the ship, maybe even request that Yoda be sent somewhere else, where his experience would be of value to the rebellion. Like one of the bases in the outer reaches. Where _Home One_ almost never visited.

Leia just stared at her hands for a second before standing and pacing back and forth across the little room. Luke, still crouched on the floor, watched her fists and whitened knuckles.

“They told me why! It really was my fault! It’s- Alderaan – destroyed because of me! Who I am! He’s a monster and, and so am I… how could I be anything else? It’s in my blood whatever it is that makes him so – so horrid… I have it too…. Dangerous… that’s why…”

Leia had started out almost screaming until she was whispering and Luke could barely understand her. _Why was Leia talking about herself that way? What did they say to her?_ Leia was never this out of control, this panicked about anything, and Luke had met her only hours after her planet had been destroyed. 

“Leia, Leia! You’re not bad. No, wait-“

Luke jumped up and tried to grab onto Leia’s hands.

“Please wait, Leia. Please, what, who are you talking about?”

Leia dodged him and stalked across the room. Crossing her arms like a shield over her chest. She didn’t meet Luke’s eyes and instead stared at the floor as if it held all the answers in the galaxy.

“My father, or my biological father, they told me who he was. And it all makes sense now. Why everything keeps happening to me. It all comes back to – to _this_.”

Leia made a sharp gesture to indicate the entire galaxy, or indict it.

 

“So… who…” Luke trailed off unsure how to ask. While Leia just let out a horrible laugh, like the air from her lungs was being squeezed out.

“Vader! It’s Vader! Doesn’t it fit? Me, the Face of the Rebellion,” finger quotes and all, “the daughter of the Imperial Watchdog! It’s perfect - you couldn’t make this up if you tried.”

 _What?_ Luke turned to gape at Yoda, who had settled in to watch this unfold. He locked eyes with the ancient master and found nothing helpful. At least nothing that would tell him how to respond. Just a quiet resignation and old sorrows, unhelpful in the wake of this new heartbreak, before Yoda offered up Jedi wisdom:

“Let go of the past, the future must.” 

 _Because that was so easy to do_. Luke rolled his eyes as he turned back to Leia.

“… Leia… it doesn’t matter. You’re not him. You could never be! He’s evil, and hateful, and – and… You care about so many people Leia! You do so much for the galaxy that there is no way you’d ever…”

“Do you think they knew? My parents? I bet they did. They knew. They knew my mother after all. I wonder if they kept me because they where afraid of me, of what I could become.”

“No! Your parents loved you Leia!” Luke actually didn’t know if this was true, he’d never met them, but they raised her so it was probably accurate. And Leia was willing to lay her life down for the Rebellion and the freedom of the Galaxy. Someone like that had to be raised by good, loving people.

Leia made a noise like she didn’t believe him as she started pacing again.

“Leia, he doesn’t matter. At least not like this. You’re your own person…” Luke tried to explain, but he couldn’t make the words come out how he meant them. When Luke himself was trying so hard to emulate his dead father, it was hard for him to dissuade Leia from adhering to her heritage. After all, Luke was trying to be a hero, trying to help the galaxy, just like Anakin Skywalker was remembered from the Clone Wars.

His actions were a memorial to his parents just as they were a grieving cycle for his aunt and uncle. If Owen and Beru had lived, he wouldn’t have left with Ben, he wouldn’t have met Han and Chewie, and he wouldn’t have had his daring rescue upstaged by the rescuee.

Oh, he would have left eventually; the empire was slowly encroaching on the outer rim and the galactic revolution would be too close to home for Luke (and his uncle) to ignore. Kriff, Biggs had known and joined up long before Luke really entertained the idea even of leaving for the academy. 

Perhaps that was the crux of it. Luke had built up his identity around the idea of who his father (and his mother) had been. He tried to model his actions after them and felt validated every time someone said Luke had done something reminiscent of his father, or the Jedi, especially when those actions had only been incidental and not purposeful. Perhaps you really couldn’t escape the shadow of your bloodline, even if different people had raised you.

Luke wasn’t sure how to help Leia. She was his friend, one of the closest he’d ever had. And he wasn’t sure how to explain to her that her biological father didn’t dictate her actions and that she was still a good person even if Vader was nothing but hate and vileness. Luke definitely didn’t want to mention that Vader was the murderer of his father, it would only alienate her even more, from guilt of actions not her own. She faced enough of that already.

Leia was strong and powerful and the Rebellion was claiming her in the same ways the Empire used Vader. The icon, the sword, the shield, and the image of what it meant to be a rebel or an imperial. Both were held up to the same standards of opposite sides of the same coin (not that people wanted to _be_ Vader the same way people wanted to be Leia). Leia was the bringer of Justice while Vader was Imperial Justice and carrier of the axe.

Luke finally settled on what to tell her

“Just because there’s nothing light in Vader doesn’t mean there isn’t so much good in you. We don’t have to be like our fathers before us, you can choose your own destiny.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Luke comes off as the right amount of naive and mature (at times)??? idk my motivation for this chapter was don't be mean to lukes space twin he might attempt to throw you out the airlock. also I'm gonna get ulcers from yoda evading shit.
> 
> ( ~~please leave a comment~~ )


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings other then leia has got some vicious thoughts to work through but thats nothing new

She had blisters on her heels and fractures in her toes.

Bruising scraped along her left side, coming up in patterns vaguely reminiscent of the grating on a railingless catwalk.

Her clothing lay in a heap at the far end of the ‘fresher. Dropped without care, Leia had dismissed her image the moment she’d been left alone. She’d been wearing the same clothes for nearly five planetary rotations. Not her longest record without an outfit change, but enough time for the seams to itch and for the compression to get the better of her. She would have to hand over most of her uniform by the day’s end. The quartermasters would be hard pressed to remove the stains of grit and blood strewn across the white fabric.

Leia would keep a careful eye on her boots, though, as it had been difficult to come across those ill-fitting monstrosities in times while resources have been stretched thin and no one thinks to supply a princess with the footwear of a soldier. Boots of synthetic leather and rubber from a distant world, the destroyer of armies and winner of wars.

Boots that rubbed out sores and pinched blisters, Leia’s _prized possession_. Her quiet statement that she’d walk into a fight and march with the lines. Side by side, soldier and princess. Even dressed as a pale figure of some great meaning she rallied just the same as the farm boy of a distant planet.

She still had blisters on her heels.

There was a shake in her hands and a tremor deep within. The fight had finished. They had won the day. Hailed across a planet, an entire quadrant, as champions and defenders of the oppressed.

The fight was done, she needed relief. Leia had done her part, she’d fought and bled and returned undefeated. She shouldn’t want to leap from her seat and pull on her boots, belt on her weapons, and hurl back into the depths of battle.

She wanted to run back swinging and take as many with her as she could. Wanted to walk over the bodies of the fallen and demand that the enemy send her more. Leia wanted to fight and rip and tear the galaxy apart.

Leia wanted her home back. She ached for her mother to hold her close and whisper that violence shouldn’t be the way but, when the need was great and the time had come, the fight would have to be won. She wanted her father teaching her how to hide a knife in a smile and coerce a secret out of a would-be ally. She wanted long days in the green mountains of her home, playdates with other children, and times when the most vicious stories she’d ever known were those of the long lost child monarchs of far off water worlds.

She hurt for times long gone and her world lost.

An orphan child in a universe without a home. An alien without a planet. Royalty without a seat to call a throne. Cultures thrown to the stars and languages never spoken again. It was a suffering greater than any being should ever feel. Worse than that of those taken from their home, Leia had once decided bitterly. At least they had a place of which to return. All Leia had was an image of the end repeated over and over in the stars.

Never again would she allow such travesties to happen. For constellations to be distorted so.  

Sitting on the edge of a time deactivated sonic, Leia chose to take an opportunity presented as her only option and train.

 

* * *

 

The next five months would mean the yet-to-be-determined stationing of the fleet would become stay-put-and-hold-the-line. To set camp and build a base.

Long moments of rest for tired troops and fast panic at the odd enterprising star destroyer.

It was the sight of a princess knighted running across the encampment that should have become common instead of remaining a novelty. It meant formal operations could take hold as had been difficult in the past.

It was the building of a bond seeped in righteous fury and the timeless skill of ignoring the thoughts of children.

“Train the body.”

Leia couldn’t breathe with the force bearing down on her. She shifted her weight, heaving against the strain. How could something so small be so heavy?

“To train the mind.”

Her jaw ached, teeth clenched in frustration. The troll was telling her nothing new. Every master of some art, be it weaving or war, always told students this. She half-way figured it was some right of passage for a student to listen to age-old ruminations.

“Train the self, you must.”

Sure that made sense. Train the self, as if Leia hadn’t been before a self-involved moof-milker showed up and told her to get cracking. Asshole.

“Only then physical training, needed no more.”

Right. As if Leia had time to crawl into a cave for two decades like this green pile of waste and mediate on how bad she’d screwed the galaxy by ignoring the signs of a crumbling republic helmed by a madman.

“Self control of the mind, it is.”

Yoda grinned with sharp little teeth and tossed another pebble into the shifting ring around his hand-standing ferocious student. Anger was not the way and he fully intended to beat it out of this girl, as they should have done to her father years ago.

Just one more push and she’d tumble head over heels, right off the catwalk, and if Yoda timed it right she’d land on the passing wookie.

“Half the rocks to the left.”

And there she went, and so went all her rocks.

The roar of outrage sent the usual gawkers scrambling back to work. Nothing to see here folks they tried to cover, only a princess-knight falling from her high horse. By dinner half the fleet stationed in orbit would hear about how determined their princess was. How focused she was on training she even faced down an outraged wookie to complete the day’s task, forgetting or, in some retellings, reimagining the actual events that transpired.

Using her sudden landing on Chewbacca for cover Leia fled the day’s exercise, leaving her pebble belt behind to catch up on news from the furry smuggler. It had been months since she’d last seen the crew of the Millennium Falcon and she had a feeling that the reason behind _that_ would at least be entertaining. After all, in the words of Han Solo, the rebellion was the best credit nerf he’d ever flown for.

Yoda cackled to himself. Set, match, game. Chewie was an old warrior and friend of the Jedi, he’d point Leia to the right easily enough. Albeit loudly and full of profanity, but the presumed knight would listen easier to a friend than an elder right now.  

As for the other knight-to-be, he’d need to work on his observation skills if he intended to learn anything. Making eye contact with young Skywalker watching from his cover cleaning a sparkling x-wing, Yoda grinned with all the foolishness of a sentient losing reality and casually stacked the pile of pebbles at the edge of the bay. Leia would need them again tomorrow, and little Luke needed a push to try for himself.

The force slipping out of its childish lull, it’d been years since such innocent handling twisted the edge of reality, swung around to point the way. Shoving an old general in the direction of use and life, Yoda was still needed and not just for baiting children either. The edges of the universe were stirring and monsters crawled in from the dark. Needs must be met before the time came and beings hardly ancient in comparison had work to do.

Looking to the sky Yoda wondered if the rebels would stay here long enough to re-witness planetary loss lightyears past. Rebellions were seeped with fury and hope but destruction repeated, even of the same loss on a scope pointed with the need to watch again and again, was the way of the dark.

After all, both sides of the coin called on the force for blessings. It was a matter of why and how that marked the difference.

In the distance Chewie was loudly telling a white rebel that even knights needed to eat and that training was no excuse to skip meals. It was an issue that was coming to a head and the worn teacher was glad for the intervention from a place of comfort and not a disapproval.

Passing the glistening fighter, Yoda tossed a wink at the child and centered the x-wing with the easy guidance of a master settled in ability. Just because the force pulled in certain directions it didn’t negate the usefulness of a small shove for naïve farm boys.

“Starfighters, rocks, the same with the force. Tell your sister in arms true, listen in return.”

Luke scrambling for balance on the moved starfighter, watched the tittering Jedi meander across the hanger and wondered. Clearly the horrid troll knew Leia had been showing Luke her training, even if there hadn’t been much progress on Luke’s part. He, of course, still had his father’s lightsaber and Luke questioned how far Leia’s training could progress without a weapon. Sister in arms, then?

Deciding the direction of the opportunity Luke trotted off to find a knight and offer her a way to fight as the guardians had in the past. Who was he to stand in the way of princesses set on a path of war and rebellion. His way was his own and he needed to attempt it at least once before falling back to familiar patterns. Battles were rarely won by tossing away your means to retaliate, Luke had learned, but passive resistance in the face of aggression often threw off the mark and and let him win before. The need for a weapon of close contact wasn’t high for a pilot and a connection to his father would be better served in use than as a trophy of deeds not won by Luke himself.

Though, the added bonus of selflessness, the likes of which his Jedi father _must_ have held, was only a small factor in his choice. After all it was glorious to hold the comparison of the Jedi against himself and find nothing wanting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so..... its... been a while.... sorry guys  
> in other news i got my tickets for rogue one so I'm pumped for star wars  
> reviews are awesome :D so tell me what you think
> 
> And thank you whereintheworldisbuckybarns and thilb0burrit0 for beta reading this chapter :D  
> Also art [HERE](http://valsadoinferno.tumblr.com/post/149724612141/after-i-dont-remember-how-long-i-finally-colored) from the amazing valsadoinferno  
> also... i cant manage to get my links to work so if someone could help me out you'd be a hero
> 
> You can also [buy me a coffee](http://ko-fi.com/behenna) while i work :D


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